by Adam Cesare
Dedication
For Jen
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Adam Cesare
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
“Can you see me?” Cole yelled over to them. He was standing on the south shore of the reservoir, barefoot and facing the water. He looked like he was thinking, but Janet knew better. The scrunch in Cole’s expression came from trying to keep his belly in a six-pack.
“I’ve got you,” Victoria yelled back as she framed her brother. She was using his phone and struggling with the device. “How do you zoom on this thing?” she asked as she shuffled to the edge, not looking at her feet and focusing on Cole. Janet could see a pink stamp of tongue at the corner of Victoria’s mouth as she tried her best to get the shot her brother wanted.
“You’ve got to be in portrait mode when you go live.”
Janet meant it as a polite pointer, but as the words came out of her mouth, they sounded like a jab. She didn’t mean it to be a dig, but she couldn’t help it, either. Her tone was why people thought she was such a bitch. Her tone and that she kind of was. Whatever—it was fun to watch the sheep quiver.
“I, uh,” Victoria stammered, propping the phone upright, then looking over to Janet for confirmation that she was holding it correctly.
“Never mind,” Cole yelled, exhaling, letting his six-pack deflate to a four-pack. Cole was effortlessly hot. Really. And Janet thought he looked better when he didn’t try. “Maybe just let Janet do it, okay?” Cole hollered, frustrated. “Please?”
Janet crept over to the edge to join Cole’s sister, careful not to slip. As soon as Janet had the phone away from Victoria, she was adjusting focus and framing. It wasn’t Victoria’s fault she was inept. She was young, inexperienced. What was she? Twelve, thirteen? How old were eighth graders? It didn’t matter. Victoria Hill was naive. Janet had mastered the stomach-in-ass-out art of the selfie before Victoria had been old enough to remember her own passcode.
Janet gave the signal and Cole performed a backflip—well, a half flip—with a splash into the water that was probably bigger than he meant it to be.
Behind her, there was a cascade of can tabs being pulled, twist-off bottles popped. Matt must have given a signal that the party was safe. It was Matt Trent’s job to figure out when his fellow security guards would next patrol the reservoir. He must have seen them head back to their cabin at the mouth of the driveway. That meant they had about an hour until they’d need to think about leaving. Plenty of time for the lightweights to get wasted.
From over Janet’s shoulder there was a deep rumble and then a familiar voice.
“Outta my way!” Ginger Wagner shouted. Ginger wasn’t her real name; it was Annabeth. But she’d tried lightening her hair in seventh grade, the process had gone all sorts of wrong, and her hair had ended up this clown-red color. She’d kept it, claiming she liked it that way, and had been “Ginger” ever since. Janet turned, forgetting Cole’s phone in her hand, and watched Ginger skateboard past.
“Watch it, slag!” Janet yelled as Ginger rolled by. She got a playful finger in response.
Janet smiled, eyes moving with Ginger. The wheels of the girl’s skateboard were loud on the old, pitted concrete.
Janet tracked her with the camera. “You’re live, Ginger! Do something,” she shouted, and Ginger complied, popping her board over the knee-high lip of concrete that passed for a safety barrier. Ginger cannonballed into the reservoir, her board following her on the thirty-foot drop. Live content gold. Janet made a note to Boomerang the first few seconds of airtime and tweet it out when she got home.
Kids pushed to the lip of the reservoir, watched the water.
The party seemed to hit the pause button as they waited for Ginger to surface. Nobody opened drinks, nobody talked or laughed.
On the shore below, Matt had climbed down to join Cole at the edge of the water. Looking out of place in his security guard shirt and swim trunks, Matt had his phone out. It was a big Samsung Galaxy that used to be his mom’s. Mom hand-me-downs, yuck. Janet shivered. Not that she was rich like Cole, but at least she didn’t have to live in constant fear of her battery overheating and exploding.
“Uhhhh, dudes.”
They were still waiting for Ginger. She had been holding her breath for a long time . . .
Matt yelled up, “If she drowns, I get to keep the body.” Janet wasn’t even sure what he meant, but assumed he was being disgusting. Even though he was the guy who let them into the reservoir to party, Matt was a fucking dick—and Janet knew she wasn’t the only person who thought that.
They waited. Janet could feel her own lungs begin to strain—she didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath—but then Ginger’s head broke the surface of the water. She was waving her bikini top. “Impact knocked it right off! Come on in!” she said. “Water’s warm.”
Kids didn’t need any more of an invitation. The dam of propriety broke and everyone rushed for the water. Some climbed down to the shore, while some took the more direct route of a high-dive. Fuck, who are all these people? Janet recognized most of the kids from their year, knew all the juniors. A few more of the faces she knew, but not the names. Some she recognized as seniors of little note. A handful were older kids who’d graduated but hadn’t gone off to college for one reason or another. The older kids made Janet a little uneasy, but then they were probably where most of the beer came from.
No, the older creeps weren’t what was really troubling her. There are underclassmen here. Janet felt the back of her neck prickle with indignation. She looked at the young faces. Singling them out by the way they sipped their beers. They’d be taught a lesson later. Maybe she’d encourage Tucker to get them drunk and then abandon them out by Tillerson’s field. Every year some drunk frosh wound up knocking on the Tillersons’ front door to use their phone because no one could get a cell signal out there and the little punks needed to call Mom for a ride home. So why not a whole bunch of them, dropped directly from the reservoir?
No, it wasn’t just the trespassing freshmen pissing her off, either. It wasn’t like she’d remember tomorrow to launch a full investigation, but Janet was annoyed that someone in their group had open-invited everyone. Tonight should have been their night, just the six of them—seven if you counted Victoria (Janet didn’t).
This trip to the reservoir was meant to be for just them.
“Give me that,” Janet said, swiping a beer from a terrified-looking first-year. “We can’t be drinking on camera, dickhead.” She drained the half beer and tossed the empty can over her shoulder. The boy watched, something like admiration—infatuation?—creeping onto his face. Janet shoved him and told him to “Fuck off.” It made her feel better.
“Yo, Janet,” Cole called up. He was h
alfway up the stairs. “Ready to try the backflip again?” He made a “start rolling” motion with one finger.
Oh yeah, she still had his phone.
She didn’t even remember ending the feed. That wasn’t good. She hit the button to reconnect. There was a hazy moment of the phone fighting for a connection, then the five-second countdown.
“Look out below!” Tucker Lee yelled as he ran into frame with a lit M-80 in hand.
“What the fuck—” Janet heard herself starting, but then Cole lifted a hand. She cut the stream before it could go live again.
“What are you doing?” Cole yelled up, taking the stairs two at a time to join them on the overlook above the reservoir.
“I wasn’t going to actually throw it,” Tucker said. The fuse was still burning, but he didn’t seem worried. It was a long and slow fizz. Those things were hard to put out. She’d once seen Tucker toss one into a bucket of water, and it still exploded. An M-80 wasn’t a firecracker; they were quarter sticks of fucking dynamite.
“Put it out,” Cole told him.
“Ah, seriously, man,” Tucker whined, the fuse still a slow phfffffffzzzz.
“Now,” Cole said, stepping up right in his face. Or as close as Cole could get, being a full foot shorter than Tucker.
Tucker groaned, wrapped the fuse between two fingers, and pulled off the cherry without flinching, even though it had to have burned him.
“Pack of six costs me ten bucks,” Tucker said.
“Here,” Cole said, pulling a beer out of a cooler that’d appeared at their feet while they’d been talking. “Even?”
“Cream ale? Seriously?”
“Fuck you.” Cole laughed. “Just drink it.”
Order restored, Cole gave Janet a nod and she started the process to go live again.
“Hey, guys and gals,” Cole said. He had his YouTube voice on and Janet couldn’t help but smile. Such a doofus. Cole wasn’t tall and broad-shouldered. He was compact and angular. Perfectly proportioned. He could throw a ball, but that was as blue-collar as he got. He’d never be working the fields or the production line at Baypen, but it didn’t matter. The rich boy was not destined for real work. “We’re coming to you live from an undisclosed location,” he continued.
Janet couldn’t figure out the need for secrecy. Everyone would know they were at the Kettle Springs Reservoir.
“Worldstar!” someone on the far end of the reservoir yelled, then did a sloppy somersault from one of the two concrete stacks across from them. The stacks flanked either side of the pool’s overflow waterfall, and it usually took a few more drinks before boys were scrambling up their algae-slick sides. But tonight people were eager to party, apparently.
Janet caught the kid’s flip in the background of the stream but didn’t zoom in or pull focus away from her main subject. This was Cole’s moment and she knew not to cut away.
“As you can see,” Cole said, pivoting and indicating for Janet to do the same so she could catch more of the walkway behind him, “summer weather has overstayed its welcome, and the crew and I are celebrating the only way we know how.” He came to a stop beside Ronnie. The girl leaned in and put her hand on his bare stomach, just above his bathing suit line. Ronnie Queen was shameless. And where did she get that bikini? Whether it was online or at the mall on Route 70, Janet and Ronnie usually did their shopping together. Janet kinda couldn’t believe Ronnie would wear something so stringy without, at least, sending a snap to Janet for comment. Janet’s approval. Whatever, that was probably why Ronnie had done it. The bathing suit and wearing it was a deliberate snub.
Janet could see in Ronnie’s eyes that she’d gotten what she wanted: Cole was noticing. Not in a pervy way—he was too cool for that—but a slight blush in his cheeks, a glint in his eyes that he knew what would keep people in their stream engaged.
“You’re looking good, Ronnie,” Cole said.
“Well, uh, thank you, Cole,” Ronnie said, her delivery not nearly as smooth as his, a hand on his forearm, not to steady her but to flirt.
Dream on, Ronnie. He’s out of your league. I can’t even get with him.
Ronnie looked nervous, and she should have been. They were only a minute and thirty seconds into the feed, but Janet knew without having to check that the bikini wasn’t enough . . . their audience was already starting to click away.
This shit was getting boring.
“You are looking good, Ronnie. But I will also say . . .” Cole smiled into the camera. He was a pro, seemed to have a natural sense that something needed to happen in their video and quick. “You’re looking a little dry.” He whistled through his teeth. Tucker appeared, scooped Ronnie onto one big shoulder, and flung her over the edge. There was very little theatricality to it, no buildup, but the toss played well because, even on the small screen, you could tell from her expression that Ronnie wasn’t in on the joke. If she’d conspired with the boys beforehand, she definitely wouldn’t have worn that bathing suit.
“Thanks, Tuck,” Cole said, patting his friend on the shoulder as Tucker walked back to his circle of drinking buddies.
Cole looked beyond the camera: “So, Janet, out of a possible ten, what do we give Ronnie’s dive?”
There. She was given permission to be catty, to do what she did best, and after that desperate bid on Ronnie’s part to try to grab Cole’s attention, the girl knowing that Janet herself had been chipping away at that mountain for years, Janet let loose.
“Her legs were all over the place. Never mind the thigh jiggle. I’m going with a four-point-oh-no,” Janet said, happy, finally vibing with the party atmosphere.
“Nah, my girl’s a ten. Even when she’s a rag doll,” Matt said, interrupting, his own phone out in selfie mode. He had his uniform top off now, not that it would take much of a detective to figure out who let them in. Was he serious? Splitting their audience like that? And who would be watching his stream when they had the choice of Cole’s? Janet scowled at him.
“We’re getting live comments,” Janet said, bringing things back, reading the screen. “Dee says that you’re starting to look mighty dry yourself, Cole.”
Cole smiled, gave a bashful laugh, and started to make flirtatious conversation with the camera. But Janet couldn’t focus on what he was saying.
Victoria Hill hadn’t worn a bathing suit to the reservoir. And why would she? Cole’s sister never went in. But now Janet could see that Victoria had stripped off her clothes. In just her underwear she was balance-beaming her way around the lip of the reservoir’s pitched east side, headed for the stacks. Nobody walked the sides of the reservoir. If you wanted to get to the other side, you took the long way around on the dirt, not on the narrow concrete lip. Victoria had a half-empty bottle of strawberry vodka in hand and was wobbling like she’d drunk it all herself. Janet watched, her breath held for the second time tonight. But Cole’s sister made it across safely. She was on the other side without slipping, without skinning her knees and elbows, before splashing into the water.
Janet continued watching Cole’s sister because this—whatever this was—wasn’t over. After taking a swig and tossing the bottle down, Victoria tiptoed to the ladder that led up to the first concrete stack.
This wasn’t a public swimming pool and the stack wasn’t meant to be a diving board, but as Victoria climbed, Janet found new respect for Cole’s chronically basic little sister. Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t easy.
Victoria Hill was quietly making a scene without making a scene.
Ignoring Cole’s continuing monologue to the camera, Janet zoomed in on his sister’s ascent.
“You with me?” Cole said, finally realizing the focus wasn’t on him.
“Check it out.” Janet pointed. Victoria had made it to the top of the concrete stack and had both her arms out.
Victoria’s waving arms were either for balance or to hype up the crowd, it was hard to tell.
“Do it! We’re bored of your brother,” Tucker yelled, his arm around a fresh
man boy he’d been forcing to fetch his drinks. Tucker Lee clenched the boy tight to him, big hands and big arms like a vise.
“Jump!” Ronnie yelled from somewhere below them, down in the water.
“Yeah, jump!” Matt echoed, seemingly forgetting that he was being paid to guard everyone’s security.
“Do it! Do it!” The rest of the party picked up the chant.
Janet had Victoria perfectly framed. The shot was grainy enough, far enough, to seem real, candid and improvised—and it seemed that way because it was all of those things.
What was Victoria waiting for? This was her moment. Victoria could make a statement here. Make the years ahead of her bearable. Be popular. Janet was in awe, impressed. Janet had pulled herself up the social ladder gradually, but Victoria was fixing to do it all in one night, in one stunt.
And then, finally, after two gymnast’s pumps on the balls of her feet, Victoria jumped.
Later, Janet would swear she had no idea anything was wrong, that the bump against the back of Victoria’s head barely looked like anything. But she did notice. She saw it when it happened. The little jitter, the bounce of Victoria’s face moving suddenly a half inch to the left as the back of her hair moved past the edge of the concrete stack.
Janet might have been the only person out at the reservoir to pinpoint the exact moment the descent changed from a dive to a fall.
Louder than the smack-splash of Victoria’s back connecting with the water was the echoing “oooooo” from everyone gathered, watching. They all must’ve sensed something bad, but no one moved. No one thought to do anything. Why should they? A hundred million billion kids had made that dive before Victoria Hill. There’d been a couple of bent-back toenails and bloody noses, but outside of that, nothing bad had ever happened. So why now?
They waited, just as they’d waited for Ginger’s dye job to reappear, but it didn’t take nearly as long for Victoria to surface.
With her face down. Arms out.
Janet dropped Cole’s phone. It would film the sky until the battery died two hours later. On the live feed, you could hear voices. Screaming. But you couldn’t see Cole dive in. You couldn’t see him pull his sister to shore. You couldn’t see that she looked fine. Like she was sleeping, until you lifted her up and saw the gentle gush of blood at the back of her scalp, parting her wet hair. You couldn’t see what the coroner would report, that the back of her skull had been caved inward on the edge of the stack.